


The Aftermath

by torigingerfox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Explicit Language, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigingerfox/pseuds/torigingerfox
Summary: A sexual assault aftermath monologue.





	The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A warning, in my opinion this is a very, very triggering and dark piece, so if you’re not comfortable reading about sexual assault and its aftermath I STRONGLY suggest you don’t continue reading.

**The Aftermath**

Rating: E

TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual assault, mentions of rape, sexual assault aftermath, explicit language

A/N: A warning, in my opinion this is a very, very triggering and dark piece, so if you’re not comfortable reading about sexual assault and its aftermath I STRONGLY suggest you don’t continue reading. 

* * *

 

 

This is not okay.

This.Is.Not.Okay.

I am scared of my own reaction, of myself, of how my brain works.

I feel guilty, therefore I’m not giving myself the time to process what has (hasn’t?) happened.

I was drunk, I was so drunk, and I wasn’t lucid.

Stupid me for drinking so much at the Hufflepuffs’ party. 

But does it make it my fault? Does it??

We are (were) friends, he’s always been sweet, supportive. He’s just...he’s my friend. My friend!

I trust(ED) him, that’s why I knew (thought) I could let myself go around him. 

We had each other’s back. 

And it...hurts, hurts, hurts sofuckingmuch. 

We were drunk, stumbling randomly in our shared Common Room, and we were laughing. 

We were bloody laughing together. 

I dragged myself into his room, to crash on his bed.

I did it so many times. Drunk or not, and it was OK, wasn’t it? 

It’s normal, friends do it. 

WE did it. 

I just wanted to sleep, it wasn’t an invite.

I was in HIS bed, fair enough.

But holy fucking cow, I had only been friendly.

Men and women can be friends, right?

Me being nice doesn’t automatically mean I was ‘asking for it’, right?

Honestly, please...someone tell me that this isn’t my fault, that my behaviour didn’t justify what happened, because I am going crazy here.

I feel sick, but not sick enough.

I keep downplaying it in my head, and I don’t understand if it’s self-protection or shame, or whatever the fuck else.

I just wanted to sleep and stay warm, he slipped in the bed with me, and I drunkenly turned towards his body heat. I was fucking unconscious. 

I didn’t ask him to slip his cock out of his pants, and, in my drunken state, I thought the best course of action, was pretending to still be half asleep, not to notice what he wanted from me. 

I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, so it wouldn’t.

But it didn’t work, he pulled me towards him and started stroking my tights. I didn’t want him to.

I could not give in. Maybe a little part of me wished I could, but the tiny rational part of my brain that was still capable of forming coherent thoughts did not want it.

I turned around, I tried to go back to sleep. That’s clear, right? That means NO, at least in my vocabulary.

I never consented to his advances. Never said I wanted him to slip down my underwear, never said yes when he started stroking me. I was a trembling mess, I was battling against my own body. Traitorous piece of shit.

I told him I couldn’t, but he kept telling me to be quiet, that it was ok. But it wasn’t OK, was it?

It was never ok and I told him to stop, that I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t.

Even if there was wetness between my thighs, I didn’t want any of it.

Even if I had fallen asleep in his bed, I didn’t want his hands on me.

But no, he told me it was ok. He kept grabbing my hands, pushing them down, where his cock was. Silently asking/telling/imposing me to touch him, but I couldn’t. I didn’t do it, I kept taking my hands off it, I kept pretending nothing was happening.

I was shivering, I was crying and I told him no, that I couldn’t.

I just wanted to sleep, I just wanted him to hold me.

He did, he held me...on top of him, and he told me it was all ok, then pushed his fingers inside me, and I kept telling him I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t possibly go on with it, I tried to push him away and he held me more tightly. “Just this, just this” he told me. But NO, I didn’t even want “just that”.

I turned around again, I kept pushing his hands away, so he tried to slid his cock inside me. 

I told him no, that I couldn’t. 

And then it hit me.

He wasn’t going to stop.

He wasn’t going to stop even though I was trembling, and I was telling him no. 

I was clawing at the bedsheets, but he wasn’t going to stop.

And I was scared of refusing to comply, I was scared of his reaction, I was scared of being a prude.

But it wasn’t ok, I wasn’t comfortable, and I couldn’t DO IT.

A sparkle inside me gave me enough strength to push him away yet again.

“I can’t do this, I can’t! Please...Theo”, I pleaded while pulling my pants back up. While crawling backwards, while he exhaled and said “I’m such an idiot”.

For what, I don’t know.

I don’t even think it was because of what he did, but because he thought I would have sex with him.

He was probably pissed off I “changed my mind”, even though my mind wasn’t on the same page as his.

I never wanted to. I didn’t change my mind halfway, and even so...it’s not my fault, right? It’s not my fault and he should’ve never touched me inappropriately in the first place.

I left, I fled to my room. I didn’t even cry, I just went to bed.

Then, I had to rush to the toilet to empty my stomach.

I didn’t feel better though, and I don’t even know if it was the alcohol or the shock.

The next morning I pretended nothing had happened.

Everyone saw us leave together, everyone thinks we “had some fun”, but we did not. I didn’t want that kind of fun, I didn’t want it.

I put my big girl panties on, and soldiered through the day, dreading to meet him.

In the morning he had already left, and I felt guilty. Why? Why did I feel guilty?

When I saw him next, there were others. I just told him “Good Morning”, and he smiled back.

He _smiled_ back. 

Nothing was the matter for him, so I shouldn’t make a fuss out of it, right?

It was(n’t) rape, right? So why am I feeling so...dirty?

Why am I feeling so stupid?

Why am I feeling used?

And why is he avoiding me now? Why is he looking at me as if I’m an annoying nuisance?

Why is it my fault?

And why do I feel like this is my (our?) dirty little secret? It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault.

Why do I feel the eyes of all his friends on me? 

And he must feel so cool, he must feel so strong. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

Maybe he didn’t even NOTICE. 

But how not to? Was it my fault? 

Does he even remember that I said no? That we never had sex? That all that happened is him scar(r)ing me for life?

I hadn’t given my consent.

I never, not once, said Yes.


End file.
